Evidence

John isn't quite sure how he manages to find the strength to enter Sherlock's room when he can barely get up in the morning without torturing himself over his feelings for his friend. Over the feelings he kept secret. It takes him a few deep breathing exercises to steel himself for his mission. John would rather leave everything as it is, let the dust gather and time stand still in the flat. But the experiments in the living room won't keep and body parts are stating to pickle in their jars causing a horrible stench to fill the flat and force John to concede to the demands of his friends and clean the flat.

He has spent the morning cleaning and scrubbing and throwing out bags and bags of hazardous materials. He had cleaned until the flat looks like something out of the design magazines they have at the Surgery for middle aged housewives to read and the flat doesn't seem quite like home any more. John's not sure if its due to Sherlock's absence or the cleaning. His shoulder aches from the exertion but he chooses to ignore it and sets to picking Sherlock's door lock. Sherlock's room is the last hurdle, the last mystery John has. The last connection he has to Sherlock. And part of him feels guilty breaking that in order to enter and clean without permission (not that Sherlock can really voice his objections now).

The lock broken he hesitates a bit his hand on the handle, but the thought of things festering nags at him along with the dread at what a cleaning crew might find in the detective's room if the task were left to them. Taking a deep breath he turns the handle and opens the door. John initially expects to walk into wonderland, to walk into a nightmare, to walk into a puzzle. But above all he expects a mess. The neatness is certainly a surprise but at least it will make the cleaning easier.

A quick scan of Sherlock's room seems to indicate a lack any experiments, dangerous chemicals, or dead body parts. That said John wouldn't put it past Sherlock keeping that sort of thing in his sock draw or walk in cupboard. John sets to work and spends hours sorting through Sherlock's stuff, mostly moving things around to get at the dust. As he sorts he never ceases to be amazed or confounded by what he finds. More then once he has turned to ask Sherlock why he felt it was necessary to own certain items like the complete DVD box set of Sex And The City, only to be remember Sherlock is gone and cannot tell him.

The more he looks through Sherlock's belongings the more John begins to see the side of Sherlock he liked to keep hidden. The shy caring side that would eventually curl up in bed with a strange pastel toy of a bee like lion hybrid. John smiles as he recalls the time Sherlock was ill and John had caught the detective in bed with the plushy eating soup and spilling it everywhere. He rubs at the smooth fluffy material and breathes in Sherlock's distinct scent for a minute or two before setting the toy down on the bed beside the other effects John has decided to take.

John is halfway to the door with the small bundle of personal affects when he realises he has forgotten to check under Sherlock's bed. Given Sherlock's temperament John is only half surprised to find a large black box under Sherlock's bed underneath a pile of jumpers John hadn't been aware he was missing instead of stacks of porn or half eaten bits of food that live under most bachelors beds. The box is fairly plain and John almost ignores it when he notices the sticky white label and the words Evidence do not touch. Sighing John opens the box hoping that whatever is inside is not too important to the yard and that he may be able to find some way of sneaking it back into the evidence cupboard.

The box turns out to filled with a mixture of strange oddities a less kind person would call junk. John doesn't though for he knows Sherlock has a reason for everything. John lays out the items on the floor so to get a better look at them and nearly cries out in surprise. "That stupid sentimental git!" he thinks choking back a sob as he curls his fingers into tight fists. Each strange item is clearly bagged and labelled in the same scratchy messy cursive that carefully explains how Sherlock came to own said item. A cursory glance at said items reveals they are all items linked to John in some manner. Most of them are linked to certain milestones between the two of them, certain cases while others are little things John had given Sherlock. Its sweet yet slightly creepy gesture and at the same time completely Sherlock.

Only he would think to keep a used teabag or blood stained handkerchief as treasure. Only he would think of these used and broken things as treasure. Only Sherlock would think of John as something precious. The thought breaks John's heart a little bit more. Had Sherlock thought him precious? Had he felt the same? Had Sherlock loved him? The box seemed to indicate so. Fat tears start to roll down stubbly cheeks before he can get a hold of himself. Suddenly the burning, aching, tearing pain he has been trying to keep at bay floods him. He sits there on the floor his bad leg hurting and his heart in pieces mourning the man he owes so much and held so dear and who had evidently loved him as well.

End

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